


Conversations in the Dark

by Linane



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: And feels, BOFA Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fili & Kili survive, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Thorin doesn't, lots of feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2841242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane/pseuds/Linane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dwarves were made to endure. So Fili and Kili endured. Thorin is gone and there is a Mountain to be run, but none of it matters because their world has been narrowed down to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [constructedmadness (dragonsquill)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsquill/gifts).



> This fic is how I deal with BOFA. It will make more sense if you have seen the film or you know what happens, but I suppose it can also be read as a general post-battle recovery.
> 
> I have tried putting this into an image, started a fanart several times but couldn't, just _couldn't_ get it right. So I put it into words instead.

He watches his brother’s hand twist in the sheets as a low groan escapes him. Their bandages need changing again, blood slowly blooming in ugly stains of _price_ on the linen fabric, but worse yet, the drugs that keep them asleep, that take away the awareness and with it the agony, are wearing off. He can feel the pain increasing with each pulse of his heart and it will be the same for Fili.

“Kili.” 

Just a hoarse whisper, but he knows. A plea for closeness, for relief, for contact. Neither can help the pain of the other, but they cling to the little mercy of touch and understanding, a solace of sharing this thing they are going through. They have learned and understood more about each other since that fateful day at the top of the tower than in their entire lives prior. 

It’s an effort, but Kili moves his hand to take Fili’s and their fingers lock together and hold on, the tightness of their grip distracting, grounding. He sees gratitude, a tight press of lips and a shadow of a smile.

 _Thank you. This is better,_ Fili says without words. _I will stay with you._

It’s been three weeks. At least that’s what Oin said last time they came round. In truth, Fili has it worse. Stab wound to the back that for the first few hours had him drowning in his own blood, as it slowly filled his lung. Two broken ribs, concussion, broken leg and a dislocated shoulder. 

Kili closes his eyes and sees that horrible freefall, three floors down, when everything was crystal clear and out of his control, and the eyes wide open but unseeing, in shock at the impact. 

He will always see it.

Minute twitch of fingers forces him to open his eyes and lock them on the blue ones. _Hey._

For Kili it’s a concussion, some bruised ribs, a twisted ankle and what Oin calls ‘a dangerous wound to his belly’. Apparently he’s lucky – the stake that was meant to pierce his heart has slid along his ribs and lodged itself in his stomach.

He doesn’t feel very lucky.

He used to wonder how they could still be alive. Not for very long, just in those really hazy hours that he spent floating in a place that felt like there was no substance to it, before his world compacted and slammed back into place with a warm, exhausted presence of Fili next to him. He’s arrived at the conclusion that their Maker made them strong so they could endure. 

So Fili and Kili endured. _The Line of Durin would not be so easily broken._

There are also the elves. He remembers Tauriel entering the halls, rushing to his side. 

“No. Him first.” He demanded and he thinks in that moment she understood. It was her fingers and lips that gave Fili his first breath back. They will speak about this, later, even though for Kili it is a question of ‘why’ and not ‘if’.

He can feel the nails biting into the skin of his palm by the time Bofur is there, pouring the bitter liquid between his lips. He chokes, grabs blindly and pulls on the soft woollen scarf. “On my side.” He grits out, watching for a nod of confirmation. 

There are dark spots dancing in front of his vision and something inside him shifts like it shouldn’t, but the new position does allow him to move his other hand to rest on top of the sweaty golden curls. From there it’s almost easy, by comparison, to sink his fingertips into Fili’s hair and rub minute little circles into his scalp.

The soft, jerky exhale this earns him just as the world is slowly losing focus is worth more than all the gold of Erebor.

***

By the time they have learned to sleep without the help of Oin’s draught again, it’s spring.

By then all the beds in Erebor seem like padded little prisons, wrapped up in meticulously embroidered fabrics, enclosed within stone which should feel welcoming, but simply doesn’t. They have spent far too long on the windswept mountain sides, hunting in forests and bathing in rivers to love the cool, unyielding rock beneath their feet.

So instead they have taken to sleeping wherever suits them, with the entire royal wing cleared up and closed off for their perusal at Dain’s request. They sleep in front of the fire in the great hall, on the sofas, among piles of books in the royal library, on the benches pulled together in one of Erebor’s many viewing terraces. There’s a scattering of cushions and blankets in each of their favourite spots and Kili thinks that this is how they heal, how they make this dream that Thorin had _theirs_.

They are both doing much better by now. Still wrapped up in bandages, still tiring too fast and Fili sleeps far more than he used to, but they are able to sit through a meeting without having to clasp their hands together under the table. Kili counts that as a success.

“Heal.” Dain told them.

So Fili and Kili healed.

There’s so much more they can now do to help each other – little specks of closeness that they have clawed back. He remembers the first time he managed to pull Fili to rest his head on top of his chest, the soft tremble of Fili’s shoulders, the way his arms fitted perfectly around them. He remembers the first time Fili kissed his skin, just his knuckles, and it was enough to distract him from Oin pulling the stitches out.

There are smiles, still strained, but with little flashes of dimples. There’s a smell of Fili’s hair, clean now and curling softly around his face. There’s a stubborn rise and fall of his chest and a warm rush of blood under his skin, defiant against everything they did to him that day. Those Kili counts as his personal treasures, spoils of somebody else’s war he’s accidentally won.

Blue eyes shine with something that’s always been there, but only now does Kili see it, and he says ‘thank you’ over and over again, with his lips, with his hands, with the curl of his body, as if that simple sentiment could ever be enough to repay a lifetime of loyalty, selflessness and decisions that saved Kili’s life a dozen times over. 

From his high vantage point of the terrace Kili watches the people of Dale rebuild their city and smiles softly. The Bowman has done well for himself. With the part of treasure he was owed nobody is starving and the busy streets and laughter of the city are lending life to the ancient halls the dwarves now call home.

He transfers his gaze to the dwarf sleeping in his lap, the King Under the Mountain, Fili, brother, _his_. Pillows under his ribs, soft blanket draped over him, wrapped up in trust and completely open about how much he still hurts. 

Only in front of Kili.

Fingers automatically brush a stray blonde strand away from his face and Fili stirs, blinking himself awake, and Kili adds the way his nose scrunches up to his personal list of treasures.

 _Hi_ , say sleepy blue eyes. _You’re a good pillow_ , adds a soft squeeze of the hand on his thigh and Kili laughs, earning himself a low chuckle in return.

“Read it to me again?”

Kili raises his brow _and you think you’re not going to fall asleep this time round?_ but pulls out the paper he’s tucked away in his vest.

 _Brat_ , replies some lazy shuffling around until Fili has curled up into a content-looking ball, a glimpse of his bare shoulder signalling that he’s ready to have his covers readjusted.

Kili rolls his eyes but pulls at the blanket, his heart swollen and aching at this new dimension to everything he’s ever known, completely independent from his mind.

The letter is from Dis and announces her arrival with the first caravan from Ered Luin, which will be several weeks yet. By the time he reaches the point where she enquiries about their days and lodgings the soft snores interrupt him again.

***

“I love you.” Fili says one heady summer evening, simply, quietly, without any flare, as Kili’s fingers delicately rub the ointment into the ugly scar on his back. 

“I know,” he replies and this is true, has been true from the day they buckled each other into heavy armour and mounted the battle rams, since earlier perhaps, since the cheerful songs in Bag End or the day Thorin asked Fili to come with him on a quest and Fili said ‘not without my brother’. “I love you too,” and this is true also, like a final piece of a puzzle finally clicked into place, writing him anew, enhancing and highlighting all that he is.

“Will you stand by my side? When they put a crown on my head and call me the King Under the Mountain?” Fili turns slightly to peer at him and it’s a testament to how much he fears the hearts of his people trusting him to always make the right choice that he has to seek out the eye contact.

“Always.” He meets that gaze head on, the core of steel in his eyes _we will not buckle, we haven’t been broken by this_ \- gentle brush of his fingertips over the scarred tissue - _and we won’t be broken now_ , softened by _I love you, I love you, I love you, I always will, implicitly, completely, forever, yours_.

“Will you – be my consort?” Closer now and the slightly parted lips say _I need you, now. Please._

“Yes.” _Of course,_ a brush of lips against Fili’s shoulder, the one that had been dislocated, now made whole again and the blue eyes alive with emotions when they finally meet in the half-light.

The tilt of their heads is an instinct ingrained somewhere deep within their souls, the rough texture of a stubble and a beard familiar like breathing, the feeling of those curved lips against his - new and wonderful and satisfying like coming back home.

 _Don’t hold back,_ whispers an arm around Kili’s shoulders, _have me, have this, here, now, share this_ and he leans in, deepens the kiss, takes, can feel Fili sinking in together with him, doing his own claiming, plundering, a lifetime of quiet anticipation finally fulfilled. He can feel himself falling back, but it’s all secondary to being able to hold the body that was broken, but is now mended, the dwarf that means his life. 

_Let go_ , demands a tongue flickering between them and slipping inside, hot, heavy and perfect and they don’t know what they’re doing, except for the voiceless conversation of their bodies, a desperate moan between them and an involuntary hitch of Kili’s hips crying _yes, yes, yes, yes!_

In the years to come he will sometimes wonder if it was worth it – the pain, the fear, the agony of watching the one he loves tortured endlessly by his own body. The price paid for finally being complete, for the sense of belonging, for the hands that will never let him go. 

He will never think it was.

If he could somehow meet Thorin again and ask him one thing, it would be ‘How could you?! How could you do this to him, to us?! We came so close to never knowing we could have this!’

Perhaps one day he will be able to forgive him.

But this isn’t about Thorin. Not any more. It’s not about what Mahal intended for them or what Dain thought was best. 

This is about them and about what they want and take for themselves.


End file.
